Angel
by xMeredy
Summary: "Rue," I say forcefully, gripping her tiny shoulders in my large hands. "Rue!" Then her eyes fly open and she shoots up from bed, as if she has been waiting for me to say her name all this time.


Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games.  
WARNING: Does contain spoilers for the first book!

**Angel**

* * *

She spins down the hallway.

"Thresh! What do you think of my new dress?" Rue asks, giving a small curtsy.

"It's…nice," I say, struggling to find fitting words. Nice is acceptable, right? I've never been one to compliment on clothes, much less girls…

She beams and I take it as a sign that I said the right thing. I want to say something more. Like how the color brings out the tone of her skin, how her necklace compliments her eyes, or how angelic she looks in it. But those aren't words fitting for someone about to venture into the hunger games – the farthest place from heaven, the closest to hell.

I feel her place a gentle hand on my arm, and I jerk up. Her eyes meet mine, and I realize I hadn't been careful. My worries are probably reflected onto my face. I try to smile, but she still looks concerned.

"It's dinner time," I say simply.

"Okay! Let's go eat," she chirps, and she takes my hand and we're running down the hallway (or in my case, being dragged down the hallway…)

A week ago, I probably would've shrugged away this hand, but right now I feel I need it more than ever if I'm to brave into the hunger games. The things I knew about Rue were the things I knew about every other citizen of district eleven: that she loved music, that she worked in the orchards, that she was dirt poor. The same could be said about me, even though we were vastly different people.

She pauses at the dining room, gasping.

My body tenses. Is there something wrong? How underhanded! We haven't even arrived in the arena yet, and the Capitol dares to play such games? Then again, I realize – yes, they are playing games with us. And suddenly, I wouldn't put it past the Capitol to pull such stunts before the hunger games have started.

But then Rue surprises me by storming into the dining room and pointing an accusing finger at our mentor. "You took the last leg! I've never gotten a whole leg to myself!"

The whole table erupts into laughter, and even Rue gives an innocent, joking smile as she sits down to join them. I feel my own lips twitch into a smile, and I can't contain myself. This merriment is painful. Especially when I remember that this scene will dissolve into a memory… and maybe I, too, will dissolve into a memory. Nothing more.

Seeing Rue smile so happily now is like a slap in the face, because this happiness will not last.

I take a step forward, keeping my face a blank slate.

...

I'm sharpening a throwing knife when she enters.

"Oooh! Are you killing somebody? I want in," she says, again, joking. But in her innocent voice, it still sounds a bit dangerous. She takes the empty spot next to me, uninvited.

I don't answer, but I do feel a tinge of annoyance rush through me. I wonder if it's because she can joke so easily about death when _we _may die out there, or that I am jealous that she is so easy-going to be able to do so.

The game makers ranked me a ten, which could easily be a good or a bad thing. I decide to take a neutral stance, just as I have tried to interpret everything else. To let my emotions sway now is dangerous.

I feel a soft thump at my side and I jump a little. The knife I'm sharpening slips and cuts into my index finger, I wince – not out of pain, but out of surprise. A small trickle of blood runs down my finger.

I turn my head and see Rue leaning against me, her eyes shut. She has fallen asleep, and her sleeping face really does look like that of an angel's.

...

I carry her back to her room after tending my injury.

She looks small in my arms. Then again, I easily tower over all the other tributes. I've heard endless mumbles of giant and gigantor all day, but it doesn't bother me. At my size, I could squish my opponents to death by sitting on them. For some reason, the thought of sitting on Rue comes to mind and the image is so ridiculous I can't help but laugh to myself as I tuck her into bed.

"You have a nice smile," Rue mumbles sleepily from her blankets. Then she yawns, and she's out again.

I freeze.

This should not have happened.

I quickly make it out of the room before anyone sees me, pocketing my knife as I go.

"What were you doing in Rue's room?"

I spin around and there are my mentors. I don't remember their names. Their attention always goes to Rue. I am the ten after all. I don't need any extra help. The man has his hands crossed over his chest, the girl has hers on her hips. I don't answer.

"Why do you have that knife on you?" the man continues.

And everything finally clicks together: the fact that they don't like me, how they are protective of Rue, and that I just came out of her room brandishing a knife. Guilty, guilty, guilty.

I almost want to scoff at them. Do they think, that even if I _were_ against Rue, I would kill her before entering the arena? I would be jailed, or perhaps murdered for interfering with the games. Who knows what punishment the Capitol would dish out? Then maybe some other poor kid from district eleven would take my place in the games.

My place next to Rue.

I don't say anything. I just hand him the knife as a peace offering and head back to my room.

...

I don't leave my room for the next couple of days, unless I have to. I can't bear to see the faces of my disgusting mentors. Even the thought of Rue's smile is painful to me. How would I fair if she were here, in the flesh, with me?

Though each time I see Rue, she seems less and less peppy. At first the changes were subtle – she'd finish dinner early and retreat to her room. Then the yawning began during lunch, or even earlier. Yawning, yawning, yawning – always yawning. Endlessly. I caught her nodding off a number of times during our lessons.

Perhaps I'm the disgusting one. Tripping over a little girl. Observing her so closely. (I'm sure, in another's point of view, they would call it being a pedophile. I don't think I want to be associated with one of those. Not that I'm much older than her, but it sure looks like it.) Letting myself be ruled by emotions that should not exist.

That's when I hear the screams, and I know in an instant that the screams could only be _her_ voice. Suddenly, I forget about the games and the Capitol and where we are and what time it is. My feet bolt, and I am out of my room and in hers.

I see the female mentor passing by the door without a second glance, though the screams get louder. She merely yawns and returns to her room. I grit my teeth and force myself to focus as I enter Rue's room.

She's twisting into the blankets, tears streaming down her face as she shrieks.

"Hey," I say, my voice soft – as if I'm scared that a loud voice will set her off again.

She continues thrashing.

"Hey," I repeat, a little louder. Nothing. "Wake up. It's a nightmare. Wake up," I urge. Her movement slows, but there are still tears running down her cheeks. She lets out another yell.

"Rue," I say forcefully, gripping her tiny shoulders in my large hands. "Rue!"

Then her eyes fly open and she shoots up from bed, as if she'd been waiting for me to say her name all this time.

"Thresh."

My name sounds wonderful with her voice.

She laughs nervously. "Woah, what have I been up to?" She hurriedly rubs her cheeks with her sleeves. I remember our female mentor's dismissive attitude to Rue's behavior.

"How long has it been?" I ask.

"What?"

"How long have you been having these nightmares?" I demand.

All the laughter drops from her face, and she looks at me with large, glassy eyes. "Ever since the reaping."

How could I be so ignorant as to not notice? I want to punch myself. Slit my wrist with a knife. Bang my head against the wall. I'd caught her nodding off for days. I could have made the connection. Should have.

"I'm just not used to sleeping alone," she says. "I used to sleep with my brothers and sisters all the time…" she trails off, in sudden memory of the life she lived back home. I see her bottom lip trembling, and I know tears are threatening to fall now.

"I'll stay the night," I say. She gives a grateful smile and pats the space next to her. I shake my head. We bicker silently like this, her inviting me to sleep on the bed and I trying to convince her that the floor is comfortable. Finally, we compromise with me sleeping on an armchair.

I pull it up next to the bed. She reaches out for my hand, and I take it.

"Can I ask for one more selfish favor?"

Anything.

"Sure," I say.

"Sing me to sleep? My mom used to…"

I cut her off, and begin humming to a nursery rhyme tune. She falls asleep in minutes, and I'm surprised that my gruff voice had the power to such a thing. I watch the rising and the falling of her chest. It's like a sign: this is proof she is alive. That she breathes, and walks, and lives. Nobody in the world has the right to take that away.

Right?

...

I am stiff when I wake up. Rue is still peacefully sleeping on her bed. I stretch, and idly look at the calendar.

It's the day before the games.

The games. After what happened last night, I'd put everything about the games behind me. The stupid, stupid games.

I make my way out of Rue's room, and the male mentor catches me again. He does not look pleased to catch me sneaking out again. I empty out my pockets to assure him I have no more knives, but he still glares at me.

"You will leave her alone from now on," he commands. "You are just messing her up for the games. District eleven needs this win."

And suddenly, I snap.

"As if you're taking such good care of her," I spat. He backs up, shocked that I have spoken. This is probably the first time he's ever heard my voice. "She's had nightmares for the past weeks and all you do is turn a blind eye." The way he winces at my statement, I know that he's aware of Rue's nightmares. But then his expression turns smug.

"Do you know how I won the games, boy?" he questions, his voice dripping with acid. I am taken back for a second. From time to time, I forget that mentors are shadows of old victors.

I don't reply, but he continues on. "It was my best friend who got picked as the other tribute." He then scoffs. "As more and more of us were picked off, she started getting paranoid. She tried to slit my throat one night." He pulls down the collar of his shirt, and I make out a thin, white scar trailing down his neck. "Fortunately I caught her in the act. I murdered her before she could pick me off." A nasty smile spreads across his face, a smile I thought only those from district one could pull off.

I let out an involuntary shudder, but I try to contain it. It's too late. He's noticed, and he's smirking at the effect he has on me.

"Your soft spot for the girl will be your downfall once she has to betray you," he smirks. "Or when you betray her."

I ball my hands up into fists.

"There can only be one victor," he says as he leaves.

...

I ignore her when she knocks on the door.

I'm not hungry.

When I eat, I throw it back up.

I try not to think about it.

But I do.

Tonight will be a sleepless night.

...

"Thresh?" her voice pierces through my chest.

I rub away tired eyes regretfully and turn my back away from her.

"Thresh?" she repeats.

I stretch out my arms and get in a ready position.

"Thresh?" And the degree of pain, uncertainty, and pleading in her voice makes me want to turn around and answer her. I almost do. I feel every muscle in my body tingling, about to spin around.

A gunshot sounds, snapping me out of my thoughts and I'm off running.

_There is no time for this._ I scold myself.

Let the games begin.

...

I have lost track of the days. The sun beats down on me. I feel icky, stick clinging onto my body as I down some bread that was sent to me, eating hungrily like a madman. I realize that the people back home are probably laughing at my animalistic behavior. Or maybe they'll be too focused on that idiotic star-crossed couple of district twelve…

I wonder if maybe Rue is getting bread too…?

I try to stay positive and see it this way: If they like Rue better, surely they'll be taking care of her better. If I have bread, she will too.

I don't even bother asking why I'm worried about her so far within the games, because I already know this. Perhaps the uncertainty comes from the fact that I can not see her in the flesh, right here, to confirm my thoughts.

It's then I hear a mockingjay, chirping in the trees. I recognize its tune. It's a working song from district eleven, and I know it could only be Rue who has taught them to sing it. Is this a sign?

The moment I took off running from her, nothing but regret has settled within me. I happened to look back, just once, as she darted into the trees.

She was looking at me too, smiling.

I almost stopped. I almost turned my feet and run back to her. Almost.

But my feet kept going forward, selfishly pursuing my own survival and mine alone. And soon, I was alone – very much alone, in the disgusting heat of the jungle surviving only on a piece of bread.

I'd spent the days since then searching for her, but it's so hard.

I remember she was always twirling about – almost like she was dancing. Graceful. I understand why she took shelter in the trees. Her skillful feet will take her anywhere, whereas I'll just be the giant oaf sweating up a storm.

I shove what's left of the bread into my backpack and head out once more.

I will find her. I will.

I will, I will, I will…

And then I do.

Canons sound, and I see her angelic face flashing in the sky.

She's dead.

* * *

This was my first shot at a HG fanfic! I'm not too happy with the title, but I couldn't think of anything else... perhaps at a later time.  
I enjoy writing stories about the side characters, since there's so little about them it's fun to create (...even if what I'm creating is their agony. Mwahaha.) I'm sorry if the ... dividers got annoying, but for some reason my dashes weren't showing up when I saved!


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